Contest poem. What happens when things don't to as they were planned. |
damn, it was out of sequence the blind man upstairs on the balcony was supposed to laugh first, hysterically, having confused the potted palm with our heroine... the jazz players would stop, party goers would look with questions in their eyes the exotic lady in her pink wedding dress would graciously make her entrance slip down the last three steps (humor assured in the script) cuing thus the square dancers to begin their geometric hullabaloo... the in-sequence should have been thus instead, the clown lit the cannon, miming the boom hands clapping was the cue for lights suddenly going out and from the bay window the magic skyfall green pink, yellow and violet streams of fake stars five minutes of falling multidimensional confetti (here, the ingenuity of the props assistant impatiently trigger-happy with the remote control fifty floors higher) violent applause, curtain, forty-five minutes early... from an artistic point of view, nothing proper came from the out of sequence mess because the finale arrived in the middle of the second act two hours of special effects crescendo-ing ruined the plot truncated incomprehensibly, in spite of the experimental nature, although those seeing tonight's first time disaster (would the critics' write-ups inspire the suppression of the last act?) might have remembered the myriad of bittersweet rosebuds of last month's off off Broadway fiasco floating in a basin of melted chocolate discreetly clothing the two naked men rising out of it recounting the brief shadow of silence, muted and incredulous, as no one dared be the first to applaud... alas! the public has become much too puritan experimentation theatre too often wreaks havoc in their wayward dreams of propriety so, in due course, many there also reflected on the multiplying out of sequence happenings out of sequence 12 march, 2006 |